


Four O'clock Meetings

by LokiOfSassgaard



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005), Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-06
Updated: 2012-05-06
Packaged: 2018-05-28 06:21:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6318106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LokiOfSassgaard/pseuds/LokiOfSassgaard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It happens once a month, and Mycroft hates it every time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four O'clock Meetings

It was no secret that Mycroft Holmes hated legwork. How he came to run half the British government and tell the other half how to run itself without doing any legwork to get to that position was anyone’s guess, but there he was, deep in the belly of Whitehall, dictating various memos and emails to his assistant as well as voicing his distaste for everything to have ever come out of Cardiff. Honestly, he was ready to just write the whole bloody country of Wales off as some sort of failed experiment and let the invading monster of the week have it. Then he might at least be able to get some proper work done.

The only thing worse than having to read through barely-coherent reports of the latest alien invasion was knowing that the man who wrote them was standing outside his office at that very moment.

"Sir."

A friendly warning from his assistant that his four-o’clock was due, though not necessary; Mycroft could practically feel the man’s presence. Still, he remembered the rules he and his assistant had previously agreed upon. He smiled at her and nodded lightly.

"Yes, dear. Send him in," Mycroft said easily, though he was already dreading the meeting.

He did not look up at the door as the bane of his existence at that moment walked into the office. Partially because he didn't have to to know what was going to happen. Mostly because he didn't want to see it happen at all, despite the certain knowledge that it would.

"Medeia," Jack Harkness greeted in a low voice as he invaded her personal space without hesitation. "What do you say we ditch this stiff and find someplace quiet?"

She half regretted the name she'd given Harkness, thinking that perhaps something like Nausikaa would have been more suitable. Or maybe Medusa. Not that either would have put him off in the slightest, but they'd be more fun to listen to him try to make sexual.

"Mmm. I think not," she responded simply, putting on her fakest of fake smiles. It had never worked before, but there's always a first time for everything. Maybe this would be it.

"Or we can find someplace with a big more action," Harkness said, not even missing a beat. "I know a great club—"

Mycroft cleared his throat loudly in an effort to stop whatever was going to be said next. Jack Harkness had no shame and Mycroft hated him for it.

"I didn't think a threesome was quite your speed, sir," Harkness said as he slid into the chair in front of Mycroft's desk. "But if you're really that keen, I think we can make something work."

"These lines may work on lower life forms, Captain Harkness, but they will not work here," Mycroft said tiredly.

Harkness smiled his usual smug smile. "They worked on your brother," he said. "And his friend." He winked at Mycroft's assistant and settled in for the world's most unbelievable debriefing this month.

"Yes, and I imagine you'll be trying them on their landlady next week?" asked Mycroft.

"Who, Martha Hudson? Oh, we're years past the need for chat-up lines." Harkness seemed far too pleased with himself over this.

Mycroft failed at not rolling his eyes childishly, covering the action by pulling out a small stack of reports that had been sent in from Torchwood over the last few weeks.

"Captain, despite what you may think, I did not call you in here to discuss the… love lives of my brother and his associates," Mycroft said, already regretting his decision to call Jack Harkness into his office at all. "I called you in here because I'm beginning to doubt the effectiveness of Torchwood."

"Doubt the effectiveness of Torchwood?" Harkness asked incredulously. "I don't see MI5 out there stopping alien threats."

"No," Mycroft agreed. "Nor do I see Torchwood preventing them. Which is, unless I'm mistaken, part of your job description."

"Well, what do you expect?" asked Harkness. "We practically work out of a shed. A very high-tech shed, granted. But we're not exactly an army."

"Cybermen," Mycroft said as he flipped through the stack of reports. "Six times since the first time I was assured that the threat they posed had been eradicated. Last month, a string of what could only be described as werewolf attacks, and what is this about an angry blowfish?"

"Yeah, well," Harkness said. "It's a big universe out there, sir. We can't plan for everything."

"Quite."

"Mister Holmes," Harkness said as he sat forward and leaned against Mycroft's desk. "You and I do this little dance every month. Let's just put an end to the flirting and get all this tension out of the air, shall we? Bring Medeia along as well; we'll make a party out of it."

Mycroft briefly wondered when he lost control of the conversation before realising that he never had control to begin with.

"Continue along that course of thought, Captain, and I'll have you removed from this office, your post, and this planet," Mycroft warned. Resorting to such blatant threats was dull and tiresome, but it seemed the only euphemism Harkness was ever able to follow was the sexual variety.

"In fact, technically speaking, you're not even from this planet," Mycroft continued. He turned to his assistant. "Dear, could you check on Captain Harkness' immigration status?"

She looked up from where she had been tapping madly at her BlackBerry, letting the faintest smile play on her face. "Already on it, sir," she said. A few seconds later, Mycroft's own phone buzzed.

"What, Captain Harkness, do you imagine I'm going to find?" Mycroft asked as he pulled his phone from his pocket.

"That depends on if your little helper over there has access to the right databases," Harkness said, resorting to his typical childish avoidance.

"I have access to whatever I want." She punched another button, and seconds later, Mycroft's phone buzzed again.

Harkness only smiled. "Is that a come-on?" he asked.

"No," Mycroft said sternly, knowing that once Jack Harkness got started not a force in the universe could stop him.

"You speak for Medeia as well?" asked Harkness casually. "I've always wondered what it would be like to be with two people who shared a brain."

The young woman smiled condescendingly at Harkness. "No, it wasn't," she said.

“That’s that solved,” Mycroft said. “Now, back to the matter at hand--”

"You sure? It sounded like one to me." Harkness leaned back in his seat again, his attention fixed on Mycroft’s assistant.

"If it was, you wouldn't have to question it," she said as she went back to tapping on her phone. "You'd just know."

Harkness laughed appreciatively. Mycroft sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. His assistant did something that made his phone buzz again.

“Oh, would I?” Harkness asked.

Mycroft briefly wondered how wise it would be to have the man killed. And then he wondered how one would go about making such a hit a permanent thing.

“Yes. I’d make sure of it.” Why she was encouraging this behaviour, Mycroft had no idea. Nor did he want one.

He picked up the files on his desk and straightened them out as loudly as he was able in a futile effort to get the man’s attention.

"Naughty," Harkness said, no doubt deliberately ignoring Mycroft. He got to his feet and looked at the thing on his wrist that everyone in the room knew was definitely not a watch. "I think we’re done here, don’t you? Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm late for a meeting with the Prime Minister."

"A clandestine tryst in a broom cupboard is not the same thing as a meeting," Mycroft said tiredly, but before he could finish, Harkness was already gone.

He looked up at the stack of ignored files on his desk and sighed once more. "Dear, see if we can have than man drawn and quartered, would you?"

His phone buzzed once more.

"That would put us over-budget again, sir." She tapped out something else on her BlackBerry. “And it didn’t stick last time, remember?”

Mycroft considered this.

“How could I forget?” he grumbled. “Fine. Send him to Norway for a few weeks. Make up a reason if you have to.”

His assistant smiled at him as she punched another button on her phone. “Already on it, sir.”


End file.
